Promises Are Better Left Unsaid
by TheRealAmeliaPond
Summary: After the war, Harry has picked up all the pieces and is ready to move on. But what happens when the key to his past shows up with shocking news?
1. Prologue

**Okay, I realize I have a whole mess of open stories at the moment, but I just couldn't keep this one off the site. It's my favorite one yet. **

**I'm having some romantic issues at the moment, so it kinda motivated me to get off my keister and work on this story. So please enjoy. **

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**Prologue: What Hurts The Most**

My insides squirm and cringe inside me as I think about what she's done. How could she have done this to me? I'd trusted her. I'd trusted her with everything. I'd given her _everything._ And all she could do was turn around and sell my soul to Voldemort.

It was all a lie. It was all a game to her. Every tear, every smile, every laugh and every kiss. Every meaningful glance. Every embrace to tell me it'd be okay. It had all been a big fat lie. After all this was done, I wouldn't even have the memories of the happiness I'd known once. All I'd be able to remember was the horrible lie I'd been forced to live, thanks to her.

"How..." I stutter, not even capable of finding the words necessary to complete the question. "How... could you do this? How can you live with yourself... knowing that you've ruined my life? How could you go on knowing it was all a lie?"

Her sobs are racking her whole body. Her whole face is flushed with the shame of what she's done to the world, as raging torrents of tears pour down her cheeks. She looks sincere. My heart wants to believe it too. All I want is to be sitting next to her, holding her as close as I can, smoothing down her hair and whispering in her ear that I love her and I forgive her. I want that. I still want that. But my head know that there's only one thing that Alex is good at: acting.

"Harry, you don't understand," she pleads, in a pathetic attempt to grasp at any shred of dignity she has left. "You weren't there... you don't know..."

"What don't I know?" I ask her angrily, staring her down with eyes filled with fiery rage. "You sold me out! You said you loved me and you'd never leave and then you go and screw me over! You're a liar and a cheat and that's all I need to know!"

"Harry, I do love you!" she cries, standing up as well. "And it's true! All those things you said about me! I'm a liar and a cheat and hurt people and the world would be _so_ much better if I would just evaporate off the face of the earth! But I _love_ you! That's not a lie."

"I'm getting more than tired of hearing this, Alex!" I tell her. "I don't believe you! How do I know your not still working for him?"

"Harry, I wouldn't lie about this!" she begs. "I just barely broke away! He's still looking for me right now! Harry, I need you!"

"Yeah, well I _don't _need you!" I shoot back. "And I don't care if he does find you! You deserve whatever he gives you!"

"Harry, you said you'd love me! You said that no matter what happens, you'd always love me and protect me! Did you lie? Did you think it'd be easy to love me? To protect me? It's never easy!"

"Well it certainly makes it a lot harder when the woman you love says she's working for the guy who keeps trying to kill you!" I shout back.

"See, you do love me!" she yells back. "_We_ love each other!" She takes my hand and sets it at her cheek, her eyes pleading with me silently. I feel how warm she is from getting so worked up, and the moisture from her tears and all I want is to take her in my arms and never let her go. "Why should the rest matter?"

I sigh, wanting to give in to her so badly. I feel the silky softness of her face against my hands and the warmth of her body. And as I pull my hand away I know it'll be the last time I ever feel it.

"Because it does matter," I say, resigned. "We are over, Alex. And I don't care anymore. I really, really, _really..._ don't care."

Her eyes silently plead with me, _please... please, Harry. I love you. Don't do this._ But I'm done. I can't even look at her. I can't listen to this anymore.

I go to the counter and grab my jacket. In one swift move, I have it on, and head to the door.

"Harry!" she sobs, running to me in her final effort for forgiveness. "Please don't go!" She grabs my arm, and I feel the warmth of her hand for what I know will be the last time. I shake the sadness from my head. You aren't sad, I tell myself. You can't be sad over her. She doesn't deserve you. She doesn't love you. She'll never care about you.

"Harry, don't leave me here!" she screams. "You saved me! You saved me from everything! You made me want to live again! What am I supposed to do without you?"

"I don't care," I say tiredly, wrenching my arm out of her grasp and turning the doorknob. "I just don't care anymore."

I yank open the door, and, taking a final glance at her and burning it into my mind forever, I walk out, slamming the door behind me.

I only make it around the corner from her front door before I can't move anymore. I lean against the wall, my hopeless sobs weakening every part of my body. I slip down the wall until I'm sitting on the cold, hard ground, crying with abandon like I haven't since I was little kid.

I hate this. All of this. I hate myself for loving her still, even when she's betrayed my trust and broken my heart. I hate her. I hate that she's so beautiful and smart and witty and amazing. I hate that she lied and deceived me. I hate what she's done.

She's truly ruined my life. Entirely and wholy, it is annihilated. I have nothing left. Her love, or the love I thought she'd given me, had me whole again. Every empty space and every loss and every hollow feeling evaporated like puddles in the midday sun and was replaced by the gift she'd given me. And after this, that completion has been stripped away, leaving me here scarred and damaged and hopelessly empty.

And more than that, she nearly killed me. Every victory from Voldemort had been courtesy of her hands, every loss suffered her fault. Every attempt at my life her doing. All my small victories had been obliterated thanks to her inside work. And now with the war waging as hard as ever, she's responsible.

Yet even after every way she's destroyed me, I'm still alive. I can still feel and cry and hurt. And for that, I hate her the most.

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**Okay, here's the drill: if you liked it, review. If you didn't like it, review. **

**Now that that's been established, another update won't be up for another week, because I have a bunch of reports due this week, as well as my high school exit exam. So I'll post the next chapter**** when I'm on SPRING BREAK BABY! Yes, because while all the drunken, sex-crazed university students hit the beach, go streaking and do keg stands, I'll be in my living room, typing away like I don't have a life. Which I don't. Lol. Oh well. **

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	2. Use Your Imagination

**TEEHEE! NEW CHAPTER! NEW CHAPTER! **

**Okay, this chapter is a little over five years after the prologue. I just wanted to let you know before everyone was reading this and was like "What...?" **

**Okay here it goes!!!**

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**Chapter One: Use Your Imagination**

"Stay still, Harry!" Emalie laughs, flashing that smile of hers as she continues to flatten my shirt and make sure everything's in place.

"Em, the shirt's flat," I say, more nervous than one of those magical holograms in a spell accuracy range.

"Calm down," she says, giggling. "You need to breathe."

"I'm fine," I say, even if I'm not.

"Hold on, you have a cowlicky thing," she says, trying to smooth down my hair.

"Em, my whole head is a giant cowlick," I tell her.

"Okay," she says, completely ignoring me as she quickly primps her hair. "I'm ringing the doorbell now."

"Are you sure you family's gonna like me?" I ask for the millionth time.

"You've already met Mum and Dad," Emalie says exasperatedly.

"I know, but still. I want your _whole_ family to like me." I keep fidgeting as she primps my hair and wipes a smudge off my cheek. "So will they?"

"Ask me that one more time and I might just say no," she says, grinning mischievously. That smile of hers is irresistible, and I pull her in for a quick kiss. She makes this squeak noise, and laughs against my lips.

"Now you have lip gloss on," she giggles, pulling a tissue out of her purse and cleaning off my mouth.

"Well, as long as it's my shade," I say, grinning goofily.

"Hah," she says, swiping the shimmery lip gloss wand over her lips, fixing her lips as well. "That'll be a great impression for Daddy." Emalie takes one last look down at her outfit—a strapless pale yellow and white sundress and a pair of matching yellow espadrilles—to make sure that everything is in place. She closes her eyes for a quick moment, and takes a deep breath.

"Okay," she says on the exhale, looking at me. "Ready?"

"Ready."

She presses the doorbell and I hear one of those fancy pants doorbells ringing in the background. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Emalie grabs my hand reassuringly, smiling at me.

The doorknob turns and in the doorway is a little girl that barely comes up to my waist. She has sandy blonde hair and Emalie's pale blue eyes, and is wearing a cute pale yellow sundress.

"Good morning, Hannah," Emalie says, kneeling down. "Go find Mummy and Daddy for me, okay?"

"Okay, Emmy," Hannah says, turning around and running up the grand spiral staircase. In the meantime, me and Emalie enter the foyer, which feels more like entering a grand ballroom. The marble staircase is magnificent, the marble a gentle hue of peach with some streaks of gold complimented by the handcrafted banisters. In the circular entrance hall, you can see all the way up to the roof where there's a semi-transparent dome painted in deep, rich colors entangled in an intricate design.

"Wow, Em," I say in awe, still staring. "Your house is…. incredible."

"Well, it's not my house," she says, taking her wrap off and hanging it on a hook by the front door. "My parents own it all, not me. _I_, however," she adds, strolling over to me with a graceful saunter and a temptress-esque smile, "live with this broke prat who has this tiny, cramped apartment."

"Oh, I see," I say, chuckling. "So why do you put up with this 'prat' of yours? And better yet why does he put up with you?"

"Hey!" she says in feigned insult. "I'll have you know that I am _very_ easy to get along with. He, however, happens to be very charming, and although his job pays nothing, he's damn good at it. Plus he's _fantastically _good looking and has one fine arse."

"Well, don't I feel cheap," I say, causing her to giggle.

Just then, Emalie's parents start coming down the stairs, Hannah running in front of the two, taking the steps two at a time.

My first impression of Mrs. Roselie Carlisle when I first met her was that she looks just like an age enhanced version of Emalie. She had the same bright blonde hair, same button nose, same oval face, and stature, though with a few subtle differences: her eyebrows are slightly more arched, a differently shaped face, her eyes are a deep blue as opposed to Emalie's sea green, and she's a few inches shorter than Emalie. She has the look of a woman who aged gracefully, with only a few minor smile lines on her face. She dressed age appropriately as well, not trying to dress as though she's twenty years younger than she is yet at the same time not throwing her sense of style out the window.

Mr. Nathaniel Carlisle is a decorated ex-Auror, who had been a huge Ministry asset during the First War, and had gladly come out of retirement after the Second War began. He was me and Ron's idol when we were in training. Every morning we'd show up, the twenty-five-year-old picture of him at eighteen years old—the age he graduated at, which made him the youngest graduate in past hundred years—on the wall of the Auror Training Lobby, in a big fancy frame, and we'd do a little bow to him every time we passed.

In fact, it was Mr. Carlisle who introduced me to Emalie in the first place. Ron, Ginny and I were all at some fancy pants, black-tie dinner party that the Ministry holds periodically for 'Auror Morale', which _is _verbatim, by the way. We had all just decided to show up for some free food and booze—plus Ginny wanted to get out of the house because Brody had been driving her banana bonkers—but we had no idea that Nathaniel Carlisle was gonna be there. We spotted him in the corner, and—after ten minutes of me and Ron bickering over who should go talk to him first—Ginny finally got sick of us and went over and started chatting him up. Then she waved us over and we spoke for a while. Once drinks were through, everyone went and ate, and then there was a buffet table desert, as were all the dinners. I got a chance then for a one-on-one talk with Mr. Carlisle by intercepting him as he went for the chocolate fountain. I introduced myself and asked if I could steal him for a moment. He said that anyone who was brave enough to interrupt him in his quest for the chocolate fountain deserved his time.

We went to a quiet corner of the party—Mr. Carlisle with a plate of chocolate dipped strawberries and a modest glass of whiskey—and we talked about general topics, like the state of the Ministry at the moment, what I did for a living and such. He seemed very interested in me, but then again, most people are just because of the whole Chosen One stuff.

As we sat, I noticed the differences between the photograph in the lobby and the man that sat before me. His face was all the same, but with more lines, and his receding hairline was graying. But he was still built the same, still in good shape and he still had that nonchalant air about his features and his movements, even slight ones, like shifting his gaze or bringing his glass of whiskey to his lips. He was a very intent listener, something in his gaze telling you that his entire focus was on you. He spoke slowly and deliberately, articulating eloquently and precisely, every word carefully selected and evaluated before it was uttered.

"You have a girlfriend, Harry m'boy?" he asked me, a slight Irish accent recognizable in his voice.

"What?" I sputtered inarticulately. That wasn't exactly something I was expecting to be asked. "Erm… I don't."

"I see," he said, nodding and looking out into the crowd. I waited for a response, but he simply paused, failing to notice the awkward silence that had fallen. Maybe it was only awkward for me. After ten seconds that felt like an eternity, he finally continued. "I only ask because my daughter Emalie—she's about your age—brought home this bum with no job last week for family dinner and frankly, I'd like to get rid of him."

I laughed.

"So you want me to whisk her off her feet?" I asked him jokingly.

"That's about the size of it, Harry," he said simply.

"You… I…." I muttered, sure I'd misunderstood. "What?"

"Look," he says, leaning towards me and setting his elbow on the table. "I'm not asking you to marry her. But my Emalie is a catch. She's a pre-med Healing Intern, she's beautiful, and she's stubborn as all hell. And you would be good for her. You're smart and clever and driven. She could use a guy like you."

Normally, this would have been a highly creepy situation. I mean, some guy I've never met telling me to go talk to his daughter who is dating a jerk. And there's a strong possibility she's a snot or a bimbo, since she's rich and dating an idiot. The whole situation, on paper, was textbook sociopath activity. But there was something about this, something that you would've had to of been there to understand. This was my idol, this Auror superstar, asking me to go out with his daughter. It was kinda like the situation you fantasize about.

"Okay," I said. He nodded.

"Alright then, come meet her," he said, grinning faintly. He stood up. "Follow me."

We wove through the crowds, trying to find his table. I thought about what I was doing at this point. It had been three years since me and Alex, I wasn't sure I was over Alex but I supposed that meeting this Emalie couldn't kill me.

Suddenly he was at the table, talking to this blonde. She was gorgeous: she was tall and thin, with sleek blonde locks and pale blue-green eyes. She was wearing a stunning strapless red ball gown with her luminous blonde hair all twisted back into a messy chignon. The dress was made of some unknown material that looks soft and smooth without the satiny shine, and fit perfect with the fashionable creases and folds in the dress. At that point, all thoughts of Alex vacated my mind.

"Harry," Nathaniel said to me, tipping his head in the direction of Emalie. I walked up, feeling ridiculously awkward. "Emmy, this is Harry."

Emalie looked at me with an 'I'm so sorry about my father' kind of look, and I give her a 'don't worry about it' look back.

"It's very nice to meet you Harry," she said cordially, extending her hand out to me.

"Likewise," I said, shaking her hand. She had a business hand shake, firm and intimidating, but not bone-crushing. Nathaniel nodded with that faint, pleased grin of his, and left us alone to talk.

"So…" I said, trying to conjure up some semblance of a conversation.

"Look," she says, wearing a sympathetic smile. "I am _so_ sorry about my dad. He can be a bit of an idiot about things like this. What did he ask you to do?"

"He asked me to get rid of your boyfriend," I told her. She busts up laughing, but not that 'obnoxious drunk' kind of laugh, just like that comment was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

"Now, now," I said, worried that she was laughing because her father had thought she'd be interested in me. "I'll have you know that I'm a catch."

"Oh, darling, that's not it," she said, getting the last few giggles out. After she was done, she sighed and leaned in a little closer to me. I was so close I could see the light tan spattering of freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheekbones. "I don't _have_ a boyfriend."

"Your father seems to think otherwise," I told her, smiling.

"Here's the thing," she said, narrowing her eyes, like she's trying to think and explain. "You know that guy my dad told you about?"

"Yeah…" I said slowly, wondering what she was going to say.

"He's actually my gay roommate," she told me, throwing me completely. She took a very lady-like sip of champagne before continuing. "See, Daddy's a bit of stiff, and I was tired of being set up with the corporate, CEO nerd type, courtesy of my father. And my roommate is a muggle and he was trying to get some practice in before his audition for the local university's theater department. So I had him get a few henna tattoos and some fake piercings and dress up like a hooligan." She grins mischievously. "Just to throw Daddy for a loop."

"Well, well, well," I said, widening my eyes in awe. "You impress me, Miss… Emmy is it?"

"Emalie, actually," she responded, grinning with this warm radiance that lights up the whole room.

"So you fancy yourself a bit of a rebel, do you Emalie?" I asked her.

"Nah," she said, shaking her head with a thinking look on her face. "Just around my Dad. One time I came home with one of those fake belly button rings, and poor Dad nearly had a coronary."

"What has your poor father done?" I asked, laughing.

"Oh nothing," she told me, brushing it off. "Believe it or not, I'm a Daddy's Girl. He's just such a tight ass sometimes, I can't help but push his buttons." She smiles angelically.

At that exact moment I spotted Ginny and Ron in the corner, Ron with a cosmopolitan in hand and Ginny with a glass of non-alcoholic piña colada in her hand. The two of them were looking over at me and Emalie. I could see Ginny smiling approvingly and Ron looking a little wary. He and Hermione were still a little worried about me. But I was ready. I knew it just looking in Emalie's eyes.

"Hey, I've got an idea," I declared.

"What would that be?" she asked.

"How about, just this once, you go with the guy your dad picked out for you?" I suggested, saying it in that joking way you'd suggest someone skip across a shallow pond of ravenous piranhas, where you try to make it sound really appealing.

"Hmmm…" she said, looking like she was thinking very seriously. "What an intriguing notion. Tell me—Harry, is it?—what are my motivations?"

"Your motivations?"

"Yes, my motivations," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Why should I say yes?"

"Well, I'm obviously good looking," I started off, counting the reasons off on my fingers. "I have a good job, I'm charming, _and_ I'm parent friendly." Emalie laughed.

"Well, that last one might actually be a liability," she said, mock-disappointed.

"So what do you say?" I asked in all seriousness. She looked at me for a few seconds, like she was examining my face very thoroughly, then walked a circle around me, as though she wanted the full 360 degree view. She came back to her original spot, scrutinizing me for a few more seconds, then smiled.

"Okay," she said, grinning that warm smile of hers. "Pick me up at 7:00 on Friday." She reached down to the table top, grabbed a napkin and wrote down an address, and handed it to me. "This is my apartment building. It's in downtown London, really close to St. Mungo's."

"Okay," I said slowly. "What are we doing on this date?"

"Use your imagination," she said with raised eyebrows as she walked away.

That date was about twenty one months ago. Emalie and I have been dating ever since. And now we're meeting her entire family.

"Hello!" Emalie's mother says, smiling and almost identical smile to her daughter. She extends out her hand to me. "You must be Harry."

"Yeah, that's me," I say stupidly, shaking her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Carlisle."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Harry," she says, her navy blue eyes sparkling in welcome. Mrs. Carlisle steps back, and Mr. Carlisle steps up with that smile of his and extends his hand out to me. I shake it firmly.

"Nice to see you, m'boy," Mr. Carlisle says to me. Emalie then hugs both her parents.

"So," Emalie says, stepping back, "who's here already?"

"Parker's in da kitchen," Hannah says, grabbing Emalie's hand. "C'mon, Emmy!"

"Well, you heard the woman," Emalie says, smiling as Hannah pulls on her hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Let's go!"

We follow the two into the magnificent kitchen. The deep hardwood floors are shiny and look brand new, and the black granite countertops paired with the rich maple cabinetry and the skinny overhead lamps are sleek and stylish. Off to the right, there is a round Formica dining table were a striking brunette sitting at it, sipping tea out of fine china with her legs crossed gracefully.

"Harry, this is my older sister Parker," Emalie says, walking over to where the brunette has just stood up.

She's tall, like Emalie but taller, with long legs and long chocolate colored hair. She has an almost identical face to Emalie, only with a longer nose, a higher forehead and deep emerald eyes. She's in a pair of dressy brown bermudas and a matching cropped short-sleeved blazer with a lace-trimmed olive green satin camisole. She smiles just like Emalie too.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Harry," Parker says, shaking my hand. My hand is now almost completely shaked-out. At that moment the doorbell rings.

"Oh that must be Gram and Chase," Emalie says. She grabs my hand. "Come with me to get the door?"

"Sure," I say, nodding.

We walked back through the foyer and Emalie turns the large brass doorknob. Behind the door are two people: an older woman and a boy in his late teens. The woman is probably in her seventies or eighties, but appears to be completely lucid, unlike some people that age. She's wearing a respectable blazer/skirt combo with a nice large sunhat and tights. She _is_ wrinkled, because frankly at that age, no one can avoid wrinkles, but she has aged gracefully. She's still in respectable shape as well.

The boy is probably eighteen or seventeen. He has long, sandy blonde hair and teal eyes and is extremely lanky and tall. He's in a pair of loose—but not baggy—jeans in a dark wash and a nice collared, button-down shirt. He has an identical spattering of freckles as Emalie.

"Bean!" Emalie shouts excitedly, hugging the boy enthusiastically as he hugs back.

"Emmy, how are you?" the boy says, stepping back and taking a good look at her.

"I'm good, Bean," she says, grinning widely. She looks at me. "This is Harry, Bean, and Harry, this is my little brother Chase."

"Nice to meet you," Chase says, shaking my hand.

"Likewise," I respond, smiling.

"And this is Gram," Emalie says, turning her gaze towards the little old woman. Gram smiles and reaches out her arms. _Thank god_, I think, _at least one person here hugs._

"It is a divine pleasure to meet you, Harry," she says, still grinning warmly.

"The pleasure is all mine," I say, smiling back at her.

We all return to the kitchen where Hannah is wrapped around Parker's leg and Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle are talking to one of the maids.

"Bean!" Hannah shouts, springing off of Parker's leg and running to tackle Chase.

"Peanut!" Chase says, kneeling down to catch her as she jumps on him.

"Okay, everybody," Mrs. Carlisle says, getting everyone's attention. "Ava says that lunch is ready. We're gonna sit in the courtyard today."

Everyone starts shuffling out the double glass doors into a beautiful Spanish style courtyard with sand paths, a full spectrum of brilliant, bold colors amongst the flowers, and ivy scaling the walls.

"So far, so good," Emalie whispers in my ear as she grabs my hand.

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After lunch, Hannah was going a little stir crazy from being at home, so Gram and Chase volunteered to take her to the park. And Parker—who I discovered at lunch is married and has a son—had a doctor's appointment for Wade, her son, and needed to take off. And Emalie and Mrs. Carlisle have become engrossed in discussing the decorating schemes for the third guest bedroom. So I spot my opportunity. 

"Mr. Carlisle," I whisper to him, as Emalie and Mrs. Carlisle have just decided on the wallpaper and are now deliberating over what color the curtains should be. "May I talk to you in private?"

"Sure," he nods.

We both stand up and excuse ourselves, and exit the room. I follow him into his study, a handsome room with mahogany paneling on the walls and tall, packed bookshelves with old, leather-bound books piled high. He sits down in leather armchair and gestures for me sit in the armchair across from him.

"What's on your mind, Harry?" Mr. Carlisle asks, folding his hands in his lap.

"Well… I…" I sputter, shifting in my seat. I _have_ to say this right. "I… wanted to ask you something."

"Well, spit it out," he says, smiling.

"I, well, I would…" I say, losing it again. I decide just to show him instead. I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the box. I open it up, look at its contents, then hand it to Mr. Carlisle. He looks inside, and his face slackens.

"This what I think it is?" he says, gesturing to the box.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "Mr. Carlisle, it would be my honor to marry your daughter."

He just looks at me, looking shocked. It's an expression I've never seen him wear, and it's a little disconcerting. He stands up and starts walking around a bit.

"Harry, you will never understand the position I'm in," he tells me. I stand up but don't follow him in his slow pacing. He stops and looks at me. "Emalie is my true baby girl. Not to say that Parker or Hannah are loved any less on my part, just in a different way. But Hannah still needs me and Parker has always been fiercely independent; she needed _nobody_. Emalie was doting and adoring, the epitome of a Daddy's girl. With Parker, I was her biggest fan, always in the stands, cheering and rooting for her, and she was always grateful and loving for the support. With Emalie, I wasn't just a spectator. I was a part of the team.

"I remember the day Emalie was born," he continues in his same nostalgic tone. "Roselie had been complaining of back pain all day, and then in the middle of lunch, her water broke. Roselie, Parker and I all rushed over to St. Mungo's. They needed to do some special procedure, which was fairly common for births that were slightly too stressful for mother and baby, so Parker and I were stuck in the hallway. By this time it was the middle of the night, and Parker was sleeping on my lap as I sat in a chair in the hallway.

"Then the doctor came out in the hallway and told us to come in. I woke Parker and the two of us entered, and Roselie was holding this little pink bundle. I just remember being incandescently happy, with my three favorite girls. Later that night, once Roselie and Parker had gone to sleep for good, I walked over to the nursery and watched her as she slept. The hours passed, midnight to one, to two, to three o'clock in the morning. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Then I saw her stir, wrinkling up her face in a yawn, and blinked a bit. And I still swear to this day, that she looked right at me, smiled, and reached out her little hand, opening and closing it like she wanted to bring me closer. At that moment, I felt so close to her, yet so very far away.

"It was then that I knew that while Parker would always love me, Emalie would never leave me," he finished. "And now you ask to take her from me."

"Mr. Carlisle, I—" I start to protest, before he stops me with a wave of his hand.

"Harry, it's not an accusation," he assures me. "It not wrong of you to want that. I know you love her and I know she adores you. My point with my whole spiel was that until you have a daughter, you will never understand how difficult it is to let her go. But Emalie loves me enough to never leave, so I have to love her enough to let her." He closes the box and hands it to me with a smile.

"Go get her, m'boy."

"Thanks, Mr. Carlisle," I say, starting to the door. Halfway to the door, I realize I have one more question for him, and turn back around. "Hey, do you have any idea how or where I should propose?"

He laughs and slowly walks over to me. He pats me on the shoulder, and then starts towards the door.

"Use your imagination."

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**TEEHEE!**

**Lol. I'll stop doing that. Anyway, just wanted to say, for any grey's anatomy fans here, the dress and hair was based off the dress and hair that Izzie wore during the episode that Denny died. I loved that dress and so it was sort of a little tip of the hat to Grey's Anatomy.**

**Okay REVIEW!!!**

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	3. Plotting

**Hey you guys! I finally decided to update this so I hope you enjoy it. It's really short, but if I'd had it be the normal length it would've been far too long so I cut it off here. But another chapter will be up within the week.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! I BEG OF YOU!**

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**Chapter Two: Plotting**

"Harry!" Ginny exclaims the moment she sees me. She rushes over, Dominik trailing behind her with the little one in tow. She pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well," I say, incapable of not smiling when Ginny is so happy. "How are you?"

"Fantastic," she breathes, plopping down in the chair with a thud.

"Hey, Harry," Dominik says, nudging Brody along. I kneel down to say hi to my godson. He rushes up to me and nearly throws me back with the force he exerts.

"Uncle Harry!" Brody shouts, latching onto me and holding on with the tenacity of a blood-sucking leech.

"Hey there, bugger," I greet him, smiling. "How are you?"

"I'm good!" Brody says excitedly, pushing the sleek, dark hair—inherited from Dom—out of his eyes .

"What've you been up to?" I ask him. "Have you been good for your Mummy and Daddy?"

"Yeah, I've been real good," Brody assures me, nodding his head enthusiastically. "Daddy tol' me to be good because Mummy hasn't been feeling good."

"Brody darling, come sit with Mummy," Ginny said quickly as she peels off her jacket and scarf, clearly trying to shut Brody up.

"Why hasn't Mummy been feeling well?" I urge him on, suspecting that it's some embarrassing secret that Ginny would rather not share with the world.

"Daddy says it's because I'm gonna have a baby brother or sister!" Brody exclaims. Ginny buries her face in her hands and Dom simply stares at Brody, like he can't quite believe what just came out of his mouth.

"I swear to God, he's your son, Dominik," Ginny whispers under her breath, removing her face from her hands. Both me and Dom both know she's more than a little perturbed; she only calls him Dominik when she's upset. Quickly slapping a smile on, she adds, speaking to Brody, "Thank you, darling, for announcing it to the whole café. Now come sit, please."

Brody, completely unaware that he's said anything wrong, obediently scurries over to Ginny, who's giving him an 'my-God-I-love-you-kid-but-you-have-got-to-learn-when-to-keep-your-mouth-shut' grin.

"Brody," Dom says as we all sit down, Brody seated between me and Ginny at the round café table with a coloring book set in front of him, accompanied by crayons in assorted colors, "do you remember Daddy saying _not_ to tell anyone about Mummy's baby?"

"Woops," Brody says, barely concealing a mischievous grin. It's clear he didn't do it on purpose, but he finds it immensely funny that he forgot. "Sorry, Mummy."

"It's alright," Ginny says graciously, ruffling Brody's hair playfully. "We had to tell Uncle Harry anyway, so you just cut out the awkward lead up."

"By the way, congratulations," I interject with a smile.

"Thanks," Ginny says with an excited smile.

"So how did this come about?" I ask them.

"I'd tell you, but there are children around," Ginny said, nodding towards Brody, who was too engrossed with a hangnail on his index finger to catch the reference to him.

"Not like that," I laugh. "Was this the plan?"

"Not exactly," Dom says tentatively. "It was more like…" he reaches over and covered Brody's ears, "the end result of a drunken grope-fest."

"Ah, I see…" I laugh. "But excitement's in order, right?"

"Yes," Dom says, nodding with a smile. "Excitement is in order."

"Good," I say. "So when's the baby due?"

"July 31st," Ginny says with a grin.

"Aw, I'm touched," I joke, smiling gratefully. "So do we know if it's a boy or girl?"

"Nah, too early to tell," Ginny sighs, shrugging.

"Do you have a guess?" I ask, trying to interpret her expression.

"Not really," she says slowly, wrinkling her brow like she's thinking intently about it. "I don't feel any different than I did when I was having Brody. At first I thought that meant I was having another boy, but maybe it just feels like this when you're having a baby."

"Well, whichever it is, I will be happy to share my birthday with it," I say graciously.

"Thank you." Ginny beamed. "So tell us, what's your big news?"

"Well I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're thinking," I say.

"I'd certainly hope not, otherwise that'd make for some pretty awkward conversation." Ginny smiled, playing along well. "Seriously though, tell us."

"I dunno…" I say reluctantly. "My news isn't as exciting as yours."

"Oh please, you knew another kid for us was inevitable," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "What with Mother pestering us for more grandchildren. You'd think she'd be satisfied after Ron and Hermione had Mackenzie and lay off for at least three years, but Mum's not gonna be happy till she has an entire Quidditch team, complete with alternates. And you're aware of that, she never shuts up about it at Sunday dinner. It's not like it was a shock for you or anything."

"Yeah, but—" I start to protest.

"No buts," Ginny insists. "Tell us."

"Alright," I said, resigned. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the box, showing it to them just as I showed it to Mr. Carlisle.

Ginny and Dom's face don identical expressions of surprise. They glanced at each other, and then at Harry.

"Is this for Em?" Dom asks.

"Yeah." I nod, a shy grin on my face as Ginny picks up the ring box.

"My god, Harry…" Ginny says, gazing at the ring in shock. "It's gorgeous."

"Do you think she'll like it?" I ask tentatively.

"Of course," Ginny says emphatically, still hugely engrossed in the ring, examining it from every possible angle.

"You think she'll say yes?" I ask, more tentative still.

"Do you love her?" Dom asks.

"Yes."

"Will you take care of her for the rest of your life?" Ginny adds.

"Yes."

"Is she willing to do the same for you?" they both ask.

"Yes."

They glance at each other with a smile.

"I think she'd have to be completely mad to say no," Ginny says, grinning widely. I grin back. "Oh my god, Harry… you're getting married!"

She jumps up from her seat, and rushes around the table to pull me into another of her rib-crushing embrace, excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she does.

"Oh let me look at you," Ginny says, pulling back and holding my face still with her hands. It's moments like this that she so clearly reminds me of Mrs. Weasley. She tilts my face a few times, examining every line and contour of my face.

"How do I look?" I ask jokingly.

"Like a man who's gonna get married," she says with a big smile.

She gives me one final hug (because in Ginny's mind, you can never _really _give out too many hugs) and returns to her seat.

"So…" she says eagerly, leaning over the table on her elbows, "how you gonna do it?"

"Actually, I had an idea," I say, "but I need a woman's opinion. And a veteran's opinion," I add, looking at Dom.

"Alright, spill," Dom says, leaning over like Ginny is.

"Okay," I start, "so I was thinking…."

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**Okay, another chapter is coming very soon! Please review!!!!!!!!!! Tell me what you think!**

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	4. Bubbly

**Hey you guys! **

**Hey I discovered something cool, and I thought I'd share it with you all. If any of you get alloy magazine, there's a girl in there that looks exactly like that alex. Just use the description you know of alex (dark hair, tanned, thin) and you'll be able to find her. Oh and she's also in the september issue of seventeen from last year, near the back in a makeup article. Also in that same article, there's a blonde girl who looks just how i picture emalie. So if you're interested, check it out. **

**Okay here it is! Happy reading!**

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**Chapter Three: Bubbly**

"Honey, I'm home!" I shout jokingly. Emalie hates being called 'honey'.

"Ech!" Emalie calls from the kitchen. "Why must you torture me so?"

"Because," I say, coming up behind her in the kitchen and wrapping my arms around her waist, "I love you."

"Aw… how nice," she says, giggling a bit. She flips off the burner on the stove. "Okay, now you set the table. Once you're done with the table, there's a button down shirt, a black tie, and a jacket in the coat closet you can change into. I'm gonna go un-uglify myself, alright?"

"I don't see any ugly," I say, a grin on my face as she walks towards the hallway in sweats and a t-shirt.

"You know why I love you?" she asks, walking the last few paces to our bedroom backwards.

"Because I love you even when you think you're ugly?"

"Because of your sense of humor," she answers, grinning as she enters the bedroom to get ready.

Every month on the third Wednesday, the two of us have a nice dinner at our flat. We both get dressed up and Emalie cooks some great food. It's a nice little thing we do as an excuse to get dressed up and looking good without going out (which translates to 'less time to get back to bed').

Immediately after she closes the door, I check my watch to see how much time there is. It's 7:30 exactly, and Em usually takes about a half an hour to beautify herself, so everything has to be perfect by eight.

Emalie's already put the tablecloth and the placemats out, but they're the same ones we use all the time. With a flick of my wand, the whole table unfurls in candlelit splendor. The same old tablecloth has been replaced with the good linens; the fine china has been set; the cloth napkins are folded neatly into little swans and set loftily on the dinner plate; the pasta, salad and sauce all in their respective dishes.

Having set the table, I ditch my shirt in the coat closet, quickly rushing to the hall bathroom to wash my face and make a futile attempt to make my hair lie flat. Damn Dominik and his perfect hair. After a second thought, I shake my head as though attempting to shake the idea out of my mind. After deciding to ignore my hair, I hastily shave and remarkably don't cut myself at all. With just a dab of cologne here and there, I dash back to the coat closet and slap on the button down shirt, the tie, and the sports coat checking myself in the mirror by the front door.

Once all that is done, I do a million other little things to make the atmosphere perfect, which include but not limited to: cleaning the kitchen, dining room and living room like they've never been cleaned before (with magic, of course. I'm not a kamikaze.), sprinkle rose petals here and there, dim the lights, and set on some soft background music.

I glance around to make sure everything's perfect and then down at my watch. 7:55.

Just then, I hear a pecking sound at the window above the kitchen sink. I whirl around, starting to get jumpy from the time running down, and then let out a sigh of relief when I realize who's there.

"Hey Hedwig," I say softly, pulling up the shutter to let her perch on the window sill. She sticks out her leg and I quickly untie the note. It's in a neat, perfectionist script that I recognize immediately as Hermione's.

_We're all here, and it's about half set up. We need at least another half an hour, so stall if need be. And we all are wishing you good luck!_

_Hermione _

I immediately toss out the note, not wanting Emalie to run across it accidentally, and grab another piece of paper. I quickly scribble down a note for her:

_That's fine, it'll probably be a little longer than a half an hour anyway. Send Pig down when you're completely done with the "message", and I'll be up within five minutes. _

_Harry_

I tie the note onto Hedwig's leg, and I realize my hands are shaking. _Get a grip, Potter,_ I tell myself. Even Hedwig seems to notice, and just before I send her off, she hoots softly and clicks her beak, as if to offer words of encouragement.

"Thanks, girl," I say with a smile, as she soars off.

As the final check, I look into my jacket pocket to check if the box is still there. It is, and I glance inside, just to take one final glance at it before I give it to Emalie.

"Wow… look at this place."

I turn around.

Emalie looks… _amazing_. She's wearing a stunning strapless cocktail dress with a swingy, A-line skirt that falls just above her knees. The dress is simple and classic: it's white with black lace and a wide black ribbon cinched below her bodice. Her eyes are even more beautiful than usual, having been carefully lined with a thick band of liquid black liner, and her lips are ruby red. And her platinum blonde tresses are artfully curled, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. With all of that put together, she looks just like an angel.

"It looks amazing," she breathes, looking over the table, her red pumps clacking against the floor as she enters the dining room.

"So do you," I say, courteously giving her a kiss on the cheek so as not to muss her lipstick.

"I would've gotten more dressed up if I'd known you were gonna get so fancy," she says, glancing down at her apparel the insecure way normal people would look at themselves if they were dressed in a burlap sack. "Did I forget an anniversary or something?"

"No, there's no anniversary," I insist, chuckling as I pull out Emalie's chair. "And you look sublime."

"Why thank you," Emalie smiles.

We then proceed to have a nice dinner with pleasant conversation. Emalie looks beautiful, the candlelight glimmering on her skin like flecks of gold and setting her pale aquamarine eyes aglow.

Towards the end of the meal, the pecking resumes at the window again, only this time it's not the usual steady three pecks, but a barrage of pecks coming with the speed and intensity of a machine gun fire.

"Is that Pig?" Emalie asks, clearly surprised as she squints at the window. "What's he doing here?"

"Dunno," I say, playing my part well. I wipe my mouth with my napkin and set it to the side of my plate. "I should probably let him in though."

"Okay." Emalie nods, getting up and coming to see it with me.

Pig zooms it, flitting about with the speed and agility of a hummingbird. I finally manage to snatch him after nearly five attempts and remove the note from his leg.

_Hey Harry, get up to your roof right now, there's a meteor shower and it's beautiful. And hurry, get up there before it's over._

_Hermione_

"A meteor shower?" Emalie says excitedly. She loves anything to do with Astronomy. "C'mon, let's go!"

"Alright," I say, grinning to myself.

The two of us rush up the flights of stairs, Emalie moving at remarkable speeds for someone wearing three inch heels. When we finally reach the roof door, Emalie flings it open to find my little surprise.

The whole roof is lit up with candles and strung-up white Christmas lights, hundreds of Casablanca lilies—Emalie's favorite flower—set up all over. To top it off, everyone is there: Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle; Parker and her family; Chase and Hannah; Emalie's best friend, Annabel; Hermione, Ron, Julia and Mackenzie; Gin, Dom and Brody; and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Emalie stops dead in her tracks from shock, and I come up beside her.

"Harry, what's—" she begins uncertainly, turning back to me only to be cut off when I start to get down on one knee. "Oh my god…"

"Em," I start off, taking her left hand in mine. She keeps looking around, like she's expecting at any moment to wake up from a dream, and her eyes begin welling up. "I wanted to ask you this in front of all our family and friends, to prove to you and the world how much I love you." She heaves a happy sob, covering her mouth with her shaking right hand. "You are everything I want, and everything I need. Before I met you I was just a shell, a hollowed out version of myself. And then I met you, and you lit up my whole world. You brighten up everything." She smiles at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want all the little moments, like when we are having kids and you get all hormonal and fat but you're still beautiful but you bitch all the time, and when I'm being stupid and you yell at me to shape up, and even when we're old and cranky and all you want to do is knit and watch 'Murder, She Wrote' on the muggle television on our plastic covered couch, but I really want a pureed sandwich."

She laughs, and I pull the box out of my pocket and extract the ring from it.

"Emalie Rose Carlisle," I say, posed to set the ring on her finger, "will you be my wife?"

"Yes," Emalie squeaked out, nodding her head enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, yes, yes!"

I take her in my arms and pick her up, her body shaking from the sobs. Everyone around us starts clapping, cheering, but I barely hear it, and I doubt she hears it either. It's one of those very moments in life, where one single thing can make everything else fade away. And she's it. All's right with the world, all's at peace. The whole world is warm and sweet and bubbly and bright. And that's all I'd want, because she makes it so.

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**Now please review! I beg of you!**

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	5. Dreaming

**Hey you guys! Okay, I'm really starting to get momentum for this story so updates will definitely come more regularly. Expect another one on... say friday or so.**

**Oh and I'd really love some reviews. I really need 'em. REALLY NEED 'EM. lol.**

**Happy reading!**

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**Chapter Four: Dreaming**

I trail along behind Hermione and Ron, wishing whoever had designed the Hogwarts Express had used some common sense and widened the aisles. I can't take one step without bumping into someone or knocking something out of someone's hands. And in fact, I do it again.

"Goddammit!" I shout, reaching down to pick up some girl's books which I've just knocked out of her hands. "I'm so sorry, these hallways are—"

And that's all I manage to say before my vocal cords decide to stop working.

This girl… she's gorgeous. She has deep bronze skin, sleek dark hair that's not quite straight but not quite wavy and wide gold eyes. She's tiny, almost a full head shorter than me, and she's got a this adorable smile, her full pink lips parted slightly, revealing straight white teeth.

"Oh, please," the girl says, taking her books from me graciously. She even has a hot accent… American, I think. "Don't sweat it. I'm such a klutz."

"Nah, it's just these hallways are so narrow," I say. I immediately regret that comment, seeing as it left that sentence hanging into a completely awkward silence. Somehow I'm the only one who noticed.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione says, popping out of nowhere. Could her timing be any worse? "Me and Ron found a compartment just up ahead." I give her a pointed look, like _Hermione! Trying to flirt here!_ She looks at the girl, who's looking a little awkward at the moment, then back at me.

"Why doesn't your friend join us?" Hermione says, not being at all inconspicuous about her arched eyebrow as she walks back down the hall towards our compartment.

The girl laughs, bringing her hand up to her lips.

"So…" I say awkwardly, "wanna join us?"

"Sure," she says, looking up and down the hallway. "It looks like my brother's already ditched me for a some girl." She shoots me a look so tempting it nearly makes my heart stop. "I suppose I could ditch him for a guy."

She arches one of her eyebrows before following Hermione down the hall. All I can do is follow.

The two of us get into the compartment, and no sooner than our butts hit the cushions, Hermione pipes up.

"Ronald," she says in an unnaturally sweet voice. "Why don't we go check on Ginny?"

"Why?" Ron says confusedly, completely oblivious to Hermione's true intentions as he eyes the girl with a hungry look.

"_Ron!"_ she hisses, making Ron jump. She widens her eyes, trying to make him get it. After an extremely awkward ten seconds, he finally understands.

"Oh…." he says, looking from me to the girl and back again about five times. "Okay." He gives me a very obvious eyebrow raise, like he's impressed. He gets up and follows Hermione.

Once we're all alone, the girl starts laughing.

"What's so funny?" I ask, smiling in spite of myself.

"Your friends aren't very subtle," she says, still laughing.

"Yeah," I say nervously, scratching the back of my head. "Yeah I know."

I sense another awkward silence, but it's obvious she doesn't. She looks just as relaxed as can be. In fact, she pulls her feet up onto the seat and turns her whole body to face me, her back resting against the window, like she's just as comfortable as possible.

"Fourth year, right?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"So you're Harry," she says, more as a statement than a question.

"How do you know?" I ask, trying not to sound shocked.

"You're a paparazzi phenomenon, Mr. Potter," she says, leaning into her bent knees and smiling in a way that makes my knees weak, and I'm not even standing. "It shouldn't be a surprise that people know you."

"It's a surprise when a hot girl knows me," I say, surprising both of us with my boldness. She looks at me, widening her eyes a little and cocking her head to the side.

"Contrary to popular belief, flattery does _not_ get you everywhere," she says, grinning.

"What gets me on a date with you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you normally this forward, Mr. Potter?" she asks me, looking very surprised to be asked out like that.

"Only with you, Love," I say with a confident grin, wondering where on earth this is coming from.

"Well," she says matter-of-factly, "I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me. I'll have you know that I'm not that girl."

"And what girl would that be?" I ask her with a look of mock-surprise.

"The easy girl," she says simply. "There's the shy girl, the one whose beautiful, but no one notices; the brain, the one who knows everything, but no guy will ever ask out because they're intimidated by her; the rebel, the one who breaks all the rules and wears pounds of eyeliner; the good girl, that pretty girl with the cute smile that every guy wants to do just for the bragging rights; and then there's the easy girl, the one who's smoking hot and will do _anything_ in bed. That the one everyone thinks I am."

"The easy girl," I repeat, in awe that she can name them all off on her fingers. "So there are labels?"

"Are you willing to admit there aren't amongst guys?" she asks, in that same, calm, matter-of-fact tone. I just look at her for a second, completely ready to lie and say that every girl is different, that all of them are unique and special. But there's just something about the way she's staring at me. Something that insists you be honest.

"No," I say, shaking my head. I start laughing in spite of me. "No, I'm not." She smiles sadly.

"That's unfortunate," she sighs. "I was hoping to be proven wrong."

"Well you know," I say, leaning in a little closer, "I don't think you're the easy girl."

"Don't you?" she say, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

"Not at all," I say, grinning.

"Then tell me, Mr. Potter, what am I?" she asks.

"Enigmatic girl," I explain with a completely straight face. She's not that strong. She cracks up.

"Okay," she says, still laughing. "I'll bite. What the _hell_ is enigmatic girl?"

"Oh, she's the best," I tell her matter-of-factly. "She's mysterious and hypnotic and completely intoxicating. She calls people Mr. and their last name. She's gorgeous and worldly and classy. She's the girl that everyone wants but no one can have. And she knows it." I point at her with a grin. "Enigmatic girl."

"Well now," she says, grinning. "I think I rather like this enigmatic girl."

"Same here," I say. "So what are the guy labels?"

"There's the player," she says, naming them off on her fingers. "He's the charmer who gets all the girls, but goes through them faster than he changes underwear. Then there's the nerd, the smart, shy guy hiding behind huge, leather-bound books and coke-bottle glasses. There's the tortured artist, either a musician, a painter or a writer, who is remarkably hot but is destined to be alone so he can better suffer for his art. Also, there's the jock, the brainless oaf who happens to be good at sports, and lastly, the good guy," her eyes widen for dramatic effect, "that mythical creature who opens doors and refuses to let the girl pay for the check."

"Mythical?" I ask her, bemused. "Why mythical?"

"Because I've never discovered one," she says simply. A little grin spreads across her face. "I keep hope alive though."

"Look no further, Love," I say cheekily.

"Oh, ha ha," she laughs at me. "You're not good guy. You're hero guy."

"Hero guy, eh?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "I rather like the sound of that. Who's hero guy?"

"He's akin to good guy," she explains. "He's the guy that always comes to a girl's rescue. He carries books for girls and sticks up for girls who are being spoken to badly by other guys and has even been known to relieve girls of their heavy luggage and put it on the luggage rack. He's always there when you need him. Not to mention he always has hot hair, even when he's doing the hero guy thing, and a ripped body."

"I _do _like that," I say, laughing.

"Well, hero guy can be over-confident," she continued, jokingly serious. "So enigmatic girl has to let him know that she's the kind of girl who likes to take it slow."

"How slow?" I say, waggling my eyebrows. She laughs.

"Why do you care?" she asks, smiling. "You just met me five minutes ago."

"And I still know nothing about you," I add onto that.

"Some guys would appreciate it, you know," she says, raising her eyebrows. "The discretion."

"Not me, Love," I say, grinning.

"You'll find the details of my life to be rather inconsequential," she says, laughing.

"I doubt it," I say, wondering what about her could possibly be inconsequential. "Here, just start with you're name."

She sighs, like this'll actually be difficult for her.

"Alexandria," she said slowly, "Moreno. Alex actually."

"Now what's your year?" I ask.

"Fourth."

"See?" I say, smiling. "That wasn't _so_ hard."

"Yeah, but you won't get it all out of me," she says, grinning. "I'm full of secrets."

"Is that so?" I ask her.

"It is," she says, ignoring my sarcasm. She's not looking at me, instead she looks down at her hands, which are resting on her knees. "And maybe if I like you, I _might_ just tell you some."

Even if I don't believe her at the time, I know I will.

---

"Harry, darling," comes a scintillatingly sweet, soft voice somewhere very close to my ear, rousing me from my dream. "Love, wake up."

I slowly open my eyes, letting them wander for a second while they adjust to the light before settling on the beautiful woman lying next to me. She's not the girl in my dream. In fact far from it. She's the polar opposite, and for good reason.

She's the girl I'm gonna marry. The one who I gave my ring nearly three months ago. The best thing that has ever happened to me.

"Morning, Em," I say, smiling and kissing her on the forehead.

"Morning, darling," she says, grinning. With her pale eyes, fair complexion, bright blonde hair and small, button nose, she looks just like an angel. "What time do you have to be at the Ministry for your Portkey?"

"At 9:00," I say, leaning closer to her face. I kiss her softly, and that's all it takes to get my horny git self going. My hands go for the bottom her camisole and start pushing it up.

"Harry…" she says warningly.

"What?" I ask softly, grinning innocently. "I've got time…"

"Up," she said firmly, pushing me off the bed.

---

"Are you sure you have everything?"

I glance around, checking the room for anything else I might need. I dash to the bathroom quickly, looking around there as well.

"Yeah, I think so," I call back to Em. With a flick of my wand, I close up my suitcase and shrink it small enough to fit into my pocket. I tuck it inside, and join Em in the kitchen.

"Alright, I'm ready to go," I say, giving her a kiss.

"Oh, alright," Emalie says with a slight pout. "Promise to call everyday?"

"Of course," I say with a grin. She gives me one last kiss. "See you in a week."

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**Alright people please review. I really REALLY want some reviews. I will personally thank every person I get a review from in the next chapter.**

**A quick thanks to everyone who has this story on their favorites list! That would be: DeathlyPhoenix, azoriangt, musicloverlover917, ohhanotheranonymouswriter. I hope you guys are enjoying it!**

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	6. Book Shops

**Ahola wahines and... dudes. Lol. Greetings from Waikiki Beach! **

**See how much I love you guys? I even post on vacation! So now review! I would really love ten reviews minimum, but I won't hold you to it. But people please, REVIEW! Because this is where the story really starts to get good, and dammit it deserves reviews!**

**Happy reading.**

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**Chapter 5: Book Shops**

"Excellent presentation, Potter," says Mr. Thompson, the head of the Auror Department. "You definitely impressed the suits."

"Thank you, Sir," I respond with a smile. "This isn't really my strong suit."

"You'd never know it," he responds with a rough grin. He extends his hand out to me, and I shake it, using Emalie's business handshake technique: firm and confident, but not overeager. "You can consider that position as good as yours."

"Really?" I ask, surprised that he'd be so forward about it. "Wow, thanks."

"Alright, we will be meeting again tomorrow to further firm up plans for this project at 3 o'clock in the afternoon," Mr. Thompson informs me. "I assume you will be there?"

"Of course." I nod.

"Splendid," he says, clapping me on the back. "Right then, you are free to enjoy Via Esperanza for the remainder of today! I strongly urge you to check out the book shop across the way. Saucy young spitfire, the owner. She started up the place a couple years ago, with a wonderful stock and poetry readings daily."

"Okay I'll be sure to check it out," I say, exiting the front door of the office building. "Thank you so much for everything."

"It was nothing at all," he says gruffly, offering a smile.

I exit the building, smiling to myself. I have been wanting this job so badly… it's just a really good feeling to finally have it.

I take Mr. Thompson's recommendation and enter the bookshop, and just on a whim snatch up a book and start flipping through it.

Suddenly I'm engulfed in a cloud of some tantalizing fragrance. It's sweet and only slightly musky—sort of like jasmine but with a twist of vanilla—simultaneously mystifying and intoxicating. The girl who wears it comes off as one of those worldly, exotic, cosmopolitan girls, the one who everyone wants but no one can have. But once you get to know her, you realize that she's really sweet, kind and friendly. You realize that she's fearless and adventurous and loves unabashedly. And then once you're hooked on her completely, she's gone in a flash.

I know that scent.

I look in the direction it's coming from. There's only one woman that direction. She's small and slender, her fitted top flattering her thin build and a pair of dark washed jeans hugging every right curve on her.

I know that body.

Her dark hair is short and sleek and much different than I remember. It's cut to just below her shoulders with side bangs, and now has subtle streaks of caramel and terra cotta running through it.

But I know that hair.

My body suddenly catches up with my head and I begin to walk over to her. My heart's pounding, and I honestly don't know what'll happen.

She turns her head, not looking at me, but giving me a glimpse of her face.

I know that girl.

"Alex," I say tentatively as I step in beside her.

She looks up at me, inquisitively at first, like she wants to know who's talking to her.

"Harry?" she finally says after a few moments, confusion in her eyes, like she's not quite sure if I'm real. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just across the street and my boss recommended I come in here to meet the quote 'saucy young spitfire' of an owner," I say in a fairly friendly voice. Her face softens a bit once she realizes I'm not angry.

"I meant what are you doing in Via Esperanza, smart ass," she laughs.

"I came to talk to some big shot at the American Ministry about a job," I tell her, and she nods. We settle into a comfortable silence, one you can only achieve with people who you know the best.

"You're not mad," she notes quietly, looking away from me. I look at her, and after a moment she looks at me too. Alex was never one to rush.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm not."

"Why not?" she asks in earnest.

"Because," I say, "I know that you really did stop working for him. And I realize that it must have taken a lot of courage and strength on your part to do the right thing."

Alex laughs.

"If that's Emalie's words," she says, "then I think I like her already."

"How…" I start off, then quickly check myself. "Ah, Dom…"

"Yes, Dom," she says, smiling. "Believe it or not, I still do have some of my old friends, especially my own brother."

"I know," I say, somehow put at ease that she knows about me and Emalie. "What else did he tell you?"

"That you're getting married," she says nonchalantly, like we're talking about the weather. She doesn't at all seem bitter or rude or unkind about it; on the contrary, she seems a little excited for me. "In a summer wedding off the coast of Spain."

"You two talk a lot, don't you?" I say jokingly.

"Well, he thought I ought to know," she says, smiling. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna crash it or anything." I laugh.

"I was going to invite you, actually," I say. She looks at me a little funny, like she's not sure if I'm joking or not.

"Really?" she says, widening her eyes in surprise. "Huh."

"Why, are you surprised?" I ask her.

"Of course!" she says. "I mean after—"

She stops there and looks away. I don't say anything for a moment or two. She sighs after a second, and looks at me. "We should talk."

"Yeah," I say slowly, looking at her. "We should."

"There's a coffee shop at the other side of the store," she says in an almost business-like way. "We can talk there."

She walks past me, and I follow closely behind her as we weave our way along aisles and through a labyrinth of bookcases. After about thirty seconds we get to the coffee lounge.

Alex goes and gets us both coffees while I find an open table for us to talk at. It looks like one of those typical, nonchalant coffee houses with an abundance of comfy sofas and armchairs with an empty fireplace in the corner. There are tons of what appear to be newly graduated Hogwarts and AAM students, all of them in the midst of studying for advanced training. All the girls have their hair piled on top of their head in messy buns, wearing loose AAM or Hogwarts pullovers, tight fitting jeans and flip flops. All the guys are in cords and sweater vests with white collared shirts underneath, and have this "intellectual cool" look about them. I pick the only empty space: a small, round table near a window with a decent view of Via Esperanza Plaza. As I wait for Alex, I gaze down upon it.

There's a ton of shops lining the long, cobblestone boulevards sprouting out of the vast square: a few other bookshops, but for other subjects, such as an American locale Flourish and Blotts, magical equipment stores, various eateries, animal stores, the Andalucia—the inn I'm staying at—not too far down the road and a whole mess of clothing stores.

That was another thing that got me. Everyone here dressed like muggles. No one wore robes or anything. It didn't bother me at all — in fact, I much preferred the muggle clothes to robes — but it did take a little adjusting too.

"It's so they can easily go between here and Los Angeles without having to change," Alex explained, setting the drinks down on little neat square napkins before sitting down across from me.

"Huh?" I say stupidly.

"That's why they dress like muggles," she explains, shaking a packet of artificial sweetener, and then pouring it into her tea. "Hardly anyone actually _lives _in Via Esperanza Plaza, aside from shop owners. It's a hell of a lot cheaper to live in Los Angeles, so they've taken to dressing like muggles. Personally, I've always thought muggles have us beaten in that department."

I can't help but smile. I _have_ missed her.

"Anyway," she says, getting that business-like tone back. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Me too," I say, determined to say what I've been meaning to say to her for a long time. "I wanted to apologize." She looks a little taken aback by that. Like it was the _last_ thing she expected to hear me say.

"Apologize….?" she repeats. "Why in god's name are _you_ apologizing?"

"For how things ended," I say. "I was so angry at you for doing the right thing. You were trying to do what was best. For both of us. And I didn't even give you a chance to apologize."

"Harry, please stop," she says, looking a little upset. "You shouldn't be apologizing! I should be on my knees, begging you to accept my apologies! For all the horrible things I did! I ruined our whole relationship! I ruined the best thing that happened to me! You didn't do anything!"

"Exactly," I say, pressing on. "I didn't do anything. I didn't stay and give you a chance to explain."

"Harry, there's nothing to explain," she says, looking like she feels very guilty for everything. "I betrayed you. And I lied to you. And then I didn't even bother to tell you—"

"Tell me what?" I ask, suddenly getting very suspicious. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Before either of us says anything else, someone shouts from off in the entrance to the coffee shop.

"Mommy! Mommy!" says a high-pitched voice, probably belonging to a little girl.

I look over to the entrance and there's a young girl, probably about eighteen, with two small kids, one boy and one girl. The three of them come over to us, the kids running excitedly.

"Mommy, Mommy!" they say, coming up to Alex.

"Mummy?" I ask her, with a bemused look on my face. "Lex, are you married?"

"No," she mutters, distracted as the girl takes a seat on her lap. "It wasn't that kind of thing."

"Mommy," Alex's daughter says, "Mora took us to the aminal store. She said that if we were good, Santa would get us a puppy for Christmas."

"Did she?" Alex says, looking at the girl with her eyebrows raised. "Mora, darling?"

"Okay, to be fair, they asked me to buy them a puppy," she says, eyeing the little girl with another raised eyebrow, and the little girl smirks in a distantly familiar way. "And I told them that _maybe_ Santa would give them a puppy for Christmas."

"Ah…." Alex says, smiling at her son. "Papi, we can _not _buy a puppy."

"But we want one," the boy says, sticking out his lower lip. He looks reminiscently familiar as well. Alex sighs.

"Mora, would you mind taking them for a bit?" she says quickly, glancing back at me. "You guys, go with Mora and look at the coloring books. If you're good _and _you two can agree upon one, I'll buy you two a coloring book."

They all leave, walking back into the book store.

"You're a mother, Lex," I say. She smiles bitterly.

"You're not very observant, Harry."

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	7. Okay

**Here's another chapter! Now review dammit! I won't update until I get SIX reviews! Six! And this isn't a ploy because I am having writer's block, the next chapter is entirely written, all I have to do is post. So all you have to do is REVIEW!!!!**

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_Previously in "Promises":_

"_You're a mother, Lex," I say. She smiles bitterly. _

"_You're not very observant, Harry," she says sheepishly, pointedly avoiding my gaze. _

**Chapter 6: Okay**

"What do you mean?" I ask her. She sighs.

"Elena and Cyrus are yours," she says as quietly as she can.

I just stare at her.

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"You're the dad, Harry," she says, looking away from me.

This is the time where I'm supposed to say something smart and cutting. Something… _anything_ that will tell exactly how shocked… and angry… and betrayed I feel all over again. But there's absolutely nothing. No words anywhere _near _strong enough to say what I'm actually feeling.

"What do you mean, I'm the dad?" I say, standing up.

"Keep your voice down," she says quietly, looking around at a few people who have started looking at us. "Please don't make a scene."

"Don't make a scene?" I shout. "You just told me I have two kids you never bothered to tell me about!"

I have so many other thoughts filling my head, and yet, I have nothing to say. So I walk out.

The next thing I know I'm out on the street, with Alex on my tail.

"Harry!" she yells after me. "Goddammit, Harry, stop!"

She jumps in front of me and I stop for fear of plowing her over. I'm perfectly capable of it, too, considering Alex is tiny. There are people filing around us, hustling and bustling here and there, and completely unaware of the current conflict unfolding in the middle of the walkway.

"Harry, you don't have to stay for me," she says, negotiating with me. "But they're your children! I don't need you, they do! So don't do it for me! Do it for them!"

I'm completely ready to tell her to fuck off and never contact me again. I'm ready to walk away and not care what happens when I do. I am. But… god, there's something in her eyes. Something in the way she's looking at me. Something in the way her eyes are begging me. Something that I absolutely can't say no to. Something I've _never_ been able to say no to.

"Okay," I say quietly, unable to look her in the eye.

"Okay?" she says, half-surprised. I nod, still not looking at her. She grabs my chin and firmly turns my face so I look at her. It's one of the things I used to love about Alex, how no-nonsense she was. It's one of the things I've missed too.

"Okay?" she repeats, her eyes traveling from one of mine to the other and back again, wanting verification.

"Okay."

She lets go of my face and smiles.

"Okay," she says, setting her hands down at her sides. "So, do you want to meet them?"

"Erm," I say uncertainly, looking back at the store. "Not yet."

"Why?" she asks.

"Lex, I just found out I have two children that I know nothing about," I say, not snapping at her or yelling. "Give me a bit."

"Okay," she says slowly. "Well, how about this: you stay here, and I'll go in there and have Mora take them to the beach or the park or something. In the meantime, I'll have Alina take over for the rest of the day and I'll fill you in on everything, okay?"

I nod, and she returns it, going back into the store.

I stand out there, wondering what's going to happen. And how I'm gonna tell Emalie. Or just plain how I'm going to be a dad.

I wonder if it's wise to put so much faith in Alex. After what happened last time, should I really believe her?

I sigh to nobody but myself. I know that I've got no other choice but to trust her.

---

It turns out the twins were tired, so we had Mora take the two of them back to Alex's flat and give them a nap. So instead we decided to take a stroll in the park.

It's a beautiful day, the kind of summer day you only get here. The air is hot, but the breeze is cool and the sky is the most intense and unreal blue. The park is fairly picturesque: green, green grass with cherry trees that are suspiciously in bloom.

"They're bewitched," she explains, noticing my stares. "They're in bloom all year round, except for mid-winter. It adds a nice little flourish for the tourists."

"They're beautiful," I say.

"Yeah," she says slowly. "I guess I sort of take them for granted, since I'm so used to them. I'd probably appreciate them more if I had never seen them, like you."

"We _are _talking about the trees, right?" I ask her. She shoots me her trademark look, like, _"Drop it."_ I smirk and oblige.

"Now," she says, donning a business-like tone. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, let's start off from the beginning," I say, thinking that would be a logical place to start. "Pregnancy, birth and such."

"Ah," she says, nodding. "Well then this is gonna take a while." She mysteriously pulls her wand out of her bra, and while I'm contemplating how on earth a wand could physically fit into a bra, she conjures up a blanket on which to sit on the grass.

"Sit," she says, taking a seat herself.

I lower myself onto the blanket, sitting with my legs crossed, like Alex. I look at Alex expectantly, but she's still looking to her right at the playground, watching the children run and play. Her eyes are squinted slightly, with her head cocked to the side, and I don't bother rushing her because I know her well enough to recognize her pre-story "gathering-of-thoughts" face.

I'm still just now recognizing some of the changes in her. She's filled out, no longer that rail-thin beanpole of a girl I knew five years ago, and her eyes are different, sadder. But she's still beautiful, that's for sure. The breeze is catching her bangs, causing them to flutter across her face. And her features are still impeccably proportioned: her wide eyes are positioned exactly the right distance apart, with a moderately shaped forehead, neither too tall nor so small that they might as well not be there at all, lips full and naturally the gentlest shade of pink, cheekbones that are neither sharp and jutting out nor non-existent, eyebrows that aren't thin or bushy and are arched in such a way that is irresistibly tantalizing, and a straight nose that, though it protruded from her face no more than would a normal one, is long and feminine at the same time. She's the kind of woman you saw on the cover of a magazine, so stunningly and hypnotically beautiful that you can scarcely imagine she's real. Every feature flowed so seamlessly into the next, perfectly arranging themselves into the exquisite result.

It's hard to believe, as I sit here waiting for Alex to gather her thoughts, that Alex and Emalie can both be so beautiful but at the same time so different. Emalie has the look of an angel, with her hair a light blonde wave, her eyes a pale blue-green that seem alight with a childlike and innocent, yet kind curiosity, her fair, rosy-cheeked complexion and her nose neither straight or hooked, reminding me reminiscently of a muggle ski-slope.

Here's the thing about Alex and Emalie:

Alex is the sultry and exotic, and irresistibly sexy; the kind of woman where you'd have to be blind or gay not to do a double-take. She's the girl you picture traveling the world with, sailing over calm, azure oceans, and getting lost in a romantic old city. You can picture snuggling with her in a hammock on a deserted beach, or letting a whole day pass without leaving bed for anything except food.

Emalie is angelic and innocent; the picture of everything that's right with the world. She's the girl you picture walking down the aisle with, the one you can see yourself having kids with, picking out wallpaper with, opening presents with her and the little ones on Christmas, and growing old with. You can picture yourself sitting on the porch with her, swaying in a seated swing and snuggling under a blanket as the kids run around in the front yard as the sun sets in the background, caught up in a moment of simplistic serenity.

To truly understand it the difference between the two, I have to explain it the way Emalie explained it to me (yes, Emalie _is_ amazing enough to be secure in our relationship to allow us to talk about our exes. Well, _my_ exes anyway. I'm not exactly amazing enough.). Emalie's favorite novel, Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights—it might just be the only similarity between Emalie and Alex, their mutual love of muggle literature over wizarding literature—has these two characters who are polar opposites. The whole difference can be summed up in the quote:

"He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. … Mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side…and woods sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee."

That's the difference. Emalie makes the world lie in an ecstasy of peace, and Alex makes everything sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. Alex lights the world on fire, and Emalie makes the whole world stop.

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	8. Karma and Words That Make Me Wanna Di

**Hey you guys! Well I'm very proud of you all because I got my six reviews! So let's up the ante this time, shall we? SEVEN! MUAHAHAHA! So yeah, seven reviews before I update.**

**Alright, this was another chapter that I'd already pre-written so all I had to do was post it, which is why it's being posted so quickly after the sixth review, but the next one _isn't_ pre-written, so the wait might be just a bit longer. Sorry bout that, but I assure you the wait will be worth it. :)**

**Happy reading. **

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**Chapter 7: Karma and Words That Make Me Wanna Disappear**

"So do you want the nitty-gritty?" Alex asks, wrenching me back into reality. "Or just a general overview?"

"Erm…." I say, considering the options. "Nitty gritty."

"Okay," she says, nodding. "Okay, let's start with the beginning. About a month after you left, I started throwing up a bunch. I hardly thought anything of it at first, because I'd been so depressed at the time. I'd eat like shit and hadn't been washing dishes well and so I figured, well you asked for it Alex. So I started taking better care of myself, sleeping better and eating better. But I still kept throwing up. So I went to my Healer. He took a pregnancy test and it was positive.

"After that I spent another two weeks barricaded in my apartment, crying. Half because of the hormones and half because of the whole… situation. I was just so scared. I mean, having a baby is scary enough when you have a husband to support you, but without one, it's terrifying."

"You didn't call me," I state.

"Yeah…" she says sheepishly, looking like she'd like nothing better than to avoid my gaze, but for some reason won't or can't. "I know. I just…" she looks away, trying to find the right words, "I called Ron's apartment, but he wouldn't relay any of my messages. I knew if wouldn't be able to do it over the phone, so I told Ron to tell you that I needed to talk to you, and for you to please meet me at Café del Sol, but you didn't show up. I had figured you wouldn't, but I couldn't—I wouldn't—tell you over the phone. I tried to convince Ron, but he wouldn't hear it. I went to Hermione, and she said she'd try, but nothing came of it. I tried Dom, everyone, and no one would help me. Ginny, as my sole ally, tried to get you to meet me, but you wouldn't listen. After a while, I thought… what's the point? I started thinking… maybe it's not meant to be."

"I'm sorry," I say, for the first time actually feeling a tiny pinprick of pity for her. She shrugs.

"You know what they say about karma…" she says, like it's no big deal.

"What do they say?" I ask her, familiar with the phrase, but eager to hear Alex's translation. "That you get back what you put out?"

"That it's a bitch," she sighs, smiling like the phrase is humorous, but the experience behind it wasn't. I laugh.

"Okay, tell me the rest," I say, urging her on.

"Well the pregnancy part is boring," she says dismissively. "But about four years ago, this month, I woke up one morning, a full week late, and I kept getting these funny twinges. I figured it was nothing, since my body was being stretched to infinity and beyond, and I went into work. So I'm at work, and about lunch time, I suddenly created my very own puddle. Fast forward about ten hours or so and I had two beautiful babies and a sore feeling like I'd just pushed an elephant out my vagina."

I flinch unintentionally, and Alex laughs.

"Oh my god, you still flinch," she says mock-sympathetically, eyeing me like I'm a cute baby bird with a broken wing. "Come on, Harry, you can say it."

"No I can't," I say, immediately feeling really uncomfortable. But it's a familiar uncomfortable, a sensation I automatically equate with Alex. Because Alex is _never_ embarrassed, and she's on a constant quest to do the same for the rest of the world.

"Oh, of course you can say it," she says, egging me on. "C'mon, Harry, don't be like Dom. I've been saying it to him just to bug him ever since we were little and he's still embarrassed when I say it. C'mon Harry… say vagina."

I take a deep breath, and know that I don't have any other choice but to say it.

"Vagina," I mutter under my breath, feeling my cheeks redden automatically.

"Yay!" she exclaims, smiling proudly. "See, was that so hard?"

"More than you know," I say, loosening my tie. She laughs.

"You're such a guy," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Am not," I shoot back immaturely.

"You _so_ are," she smiles, narrowing her eyes.

We settle into a comfortable silence, the kind you only achieve with the people you know the very best. The kind where a silence isn't the absence of conversation, but rather, the feeling that you don't really need it. Where you don't even need to hear what they're saying because you just know. And for just the briefest moment, it feels like nothing ever changed.

"Anyway," Alex says, "anything else you want to know?"

"Yes," I say, thinking quickly. "Tell me about them." She smiles slowly, looking at me like she's trying to figure something out.

"You don't remember their names, do you?"

"Well… no," I say sheepishly. "Well to be fair, I was a little too shocked to remember anything."

"It's okay," she says. "Your daughter is Elena Lily."

"Like your mum," I note with a smile. "And mine."

"Yeah," she says, grinning. "Elena Lily Moreno."

" Moreno?" I ask. "What, was it asexual reproduction?"

"No," she says, laughing. "I just didn't want to name children after a father they'd never met."

She says it so sincerely that it's impossible to take it in an insulting way.

"Fine, fair enough," I say. "Okay, now to my son."

"Yes, your son," she says. "His name is Cyrus James."

"Cyrus…." I say slowly, testing the name.

"I was gonna name him Sirius, but I'm not evil enough to saddle a kid with that name, so I picked Cyrus," she explains. "And James is self-explanatory, the poor kid has as many cowlicks as you and James put together."

"So tell me about my Elena," I tell her, leaning towards her attentively.

"Elena…" she says thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes like she's thinking it over very carefully. "Elena is brilliant. Plain and simple. She's way too smart for her own good, she's well-behaved, well-mannered, and so levelheaded it's easy to forget she's only four. And she's beautiful. But then again I suppose I'm a _bit_ biased."

"Okay," I respond, soaking all that in. "How brilliant are we talking?"

"She listens to Beethoven and Mozart," Alex says, in a 'believe it or not' sort of voice. "She understands abstract art. She can do long division. She wants to go to Julliard, and she's only four."

"Wow…" I say, stunned. "How did you plus me equal that?"

"If you can figure that out, then you're smarter than Elena," Alex sighs, smiling. "Okay, ready for Cyrus?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she says, doing yet another round of thought-gathering. "Cyrus is a firecracker. He's an endless ball of energy. And he's _all_ boy. He once farted in a restaurant while the waitress was taking our order, and then _laughed_. And I'm not talking a 'kinda quiet' fart either, the whole restaurant stopped to look at us. And it didn't help that Cyrus started gagging from the stench." She chuckled a little bit, reminiscing. "But he's a sweet little bugger when he wants to be. And he's _very_ protective of Elena, because she's so little."

"A boy after my own heart," I say, smiling proudly.

"Oh he's after some part of your body," Alex says, smirking. "But it's not your heart."

"Must we get into the dirty stuff right away?" I say sarcastically, sighing jokingly.

"Fine, I'll keep it rated G," she sighs, as though it's costing her a great deal of effort.

She giggles a bit. It hits me like a slap across the face. I haven't heard her laugh in forever. It sounds like something from another life, one so long ago I'd nearly forgot about it.

"Alright," Alex says, pulling herself to her feet and extending her hand out to offer a hand up, "ready to meet them?"

I look at her hand for a moment, and I'll admit, I'm seriously considering nothing going. Not because I don't want to meet my own kids, but because once I take her hand and meet them, _everything_ will be different. But… maybe not a bad different…

I reach out and take her hand.

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**Oooo like it? Then review. Even if you hated it worse than anything you've ever read in your life. Seriously, at this point i don't care what I get: praise, constructive critism, flames, a review saying "you suck, don't ever write again". It's all the same to me. As long as it's a response. **

**A big thanks to whoever invented Tylenol, because they totally saved my ass last night when I got a migraine for the first time since eighth grade (three years ago).**

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